none,
But those they are bred withal?

Pet. Scarce well of those, Madam,
If they believe they may out-shine 'em any way:
Our natures are like Oyl, compound us with any thing,
Yet still we strive to swim o' th' top:
Suppose there were here now,
Now in this Court of Mosco, a stranger Princess,
Of bloud and beauty equal to your excellence,
As many eyes and services stuck on her;
What would you think?

Olym. I would think she might deserve it.

Pet. Your Grace shall give me leave not to believe ye;
I know you are a Woman, and so humour'd:
I'le tell ye Madam, I could then get more Gowns on ye,
More Caps and Feathers, more Scarfs, and more Silk-stockings
With rocking you asleep with nightly railings
Upon that Woman, than if I had nine lives
I could wear out: by this hand ye'would scratch her eyes out.

Olym. Thou art deceiv'd fool;
Now let your own eye mock ye.

Enter Gentlewoman and Alinda.

Come hither Girl: hang me and she be not a handsom one.

Pet. I fear it will prove indeed so.

Olym. Did you ever serve yet
In any place of worth?

Alin. No, Royal Lady.

Pet. Hold up your head; fie.

Olym. Let her alone, stand from her.

Alin. It shall be now,
Of all the blessings my poor youth has pray'd for,
The greatest and the happiest to serve you;
And might my promise carry but that credit
To be believ'd, because I am yet a stranger,
Excellent Lady, when I fall from duty,
From all the service that my life can lend me,
May everlasting misery then find me.

Olym. What think ye now? I do believe, and thank ye;
And sure I shall not be so far forgetful,
To see that honest faith die unrewarded:
What must I call your name?

Alin. Alinda, Madam.

Olym. Can ye sing?

Alin. A little, when my grief will give me leave, Lady.

Olym. What grief canst thou have Wench?
Thou art not in love?

Alin. If I be Madam, 'tis only with your goodness;
For yet I never saw that man I sighed for.

Olym. Of what years are you?

Alin. My Mother oft has told me,
That very day and hour this land was blest
With your most happy birth, I first saluted
This worlds fair light: Nature was then so busie,
And all the Graces to adorn your goodness,
I stole into the world poor and neglected.

Olym. Something there was, when I first look'd upon thee,
Made me both like and love thee: now I know it;
And you shall find that knowledge shall not hurt you:
I hope ye are a Maid?

Alin. I hope so too, Madam;
I am sure for any man: and were I otherwise,
Of all the services my hopes could point at,
I durst not touch at yours.

Flourish. Enter Duke, Burris, and Gent.

Pet. The great Duke, Madam.

Duk. Good morrow, Sister.

Olym. A good day to your highness.

Duk. I am come to pray you use no more perswasions
For this old stubborn man: nay to command ye:
His sail is swell'd too full: he is grown too insolent,
Too self-affected, proud: those poor slight services
He has done my Father, and my self, has blown him
To such a pitch, he flyes to stoop our favours.

Olym. I am sorry Sir: I ever thought those services
Both great and noble.

Bur. However, may it please ye
But to consider 'em a true hearts Servants,
Done out of faith to you, and not self-fame:
Do but consider royal Sir, the dangers;
When you have slept secure, the mid-night tempests,
That as he marcht sung through his aged locks;
When you have fed at full, the wants and famins;
The fires of Heaven, when you have found all temperate,
Death with his thousand doors—

Duk. I have consider'd;
No more: and that I will have, shall be.

Olym. For the best,
I hope all still.

Duk. What handsom wench is that there?

Olym. My Servant, Sir.

Duk. Prethee observe her Burris,
Is she not wondrous handsom? speak thy freedom.

Bur. She appears no less to me Sir.

Duk. Of whence is she?

Ol. Her Father I am told is a good Gentleman,
But far off dwelling: her desire to serve me
Brought her to th' Court, and here her friends have left her.

Du. She may find better friends:
Ye are welcom fair one,
I have not seen a sweeter: By your Ladies leave:
Nay stand up sweet, we'll have no superstition:
You have got a Servant; you may use him kindly,
And he may honour ye: [Ex. Duke and Burris.
Good morrow Sister.

Ol. Good morrow to your Grace. How the wench blushes!
How like an A[n]gel now she looks!

1 Wom. At first jump
Jump into the Dukes arms? we must look to you,
Indeed we must, the next jump we are journeymen.

Pet. I see the ruine of our hopes already,
Would she were at home again, milking her Fathers Cows.

1 Wom. I fear she'l milk all the great Courtiers first.

Olym. This has not made ye proud?

Al. No certain, Madam.

Olym. It was the Duke that kist ye.

Al. 'Twas your Brother,
And therefore nothing can be meant but honour.

Ol. But say he love ye?

Al. That he may with safety:
A Princes love extends to all his subjects.

Ol. But say in more particular?

Al. Pray fear not:
For vertues sake deliver me from doubts, Lady:
'Tis not the name of King, nor all his promises,
His glories, and his greatness stuck about me,
Can make me prove a Traitor to your service:
You are my Mistris, and my noble Master,
Your vertues my ambition, and your favour
The end of all my love, and all my fortune:
And when I fail in that faith—

Ol. I believe thee,
Come wipe your eyes; I do: take you example—

Pets. I would her eyes were out.

1 Wom. If the wind stand in this door,
We shall have but cold custome: some trick or other,
And speedily.

Pet. Let me alone to think on't.

Ol. Come, be you near me still.

Al. With all my duty. [Exeunt.

SCENA III.

Enter Archas, Theodor, Putskie, Ancient, and Souldiers, carrying his armour piece-meale, his Colours wound up, and his Drums in Cases.

Theod. This is the heaviest march we e're trod Captain.

Puts. This was not wont to be: these honour'd pieces
The fierie god of war himself would smile at,
Buckl'd upon that body, were not wont thus,
Like Reliques to be offer'd to long rust,
And heavy-ey'd oblivion brood upon 'em.

Arch. There set 'em down: and glorious war farewel;
Thou child of honour and ambitious thoughts,
Begot in bloud, and nurs'd with Kingdomes ruines;
Thou golden danger, courted by thy followers
Through fires and famins, for one title from thee—
Prodigal man-kind spending all his fortunes;
A long farewel I give thee: Noble